


Meet Me In Paris

by HeayPuckett



Series: The Dating Life of Sherlock Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But there's finally kissing!, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Paris - Freeform, Romance, Sherlock & Molly don't do the cinema, a wee bit gross, as in skeletons, bones - Freeform, but not from violence, human anatomy as art, implied gore, lots of skeletons, their dates end up in the newspaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeayPuckett/pseuds/HeayPuckett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating Sherlock Holmes is not for the faint of heart or unenterprising. Dating Molly Hooper is not for the squeamish. Here are two ways Sherlock and Molly explore Paris. </p><p>-----------</p><p>There is an exploration of a topic some may find disturbing: human anatomy as art. What I mention has to to with representations of human anatomy without use of actual bodies, but I also mention Body Worlds, which is an exhibit that uses actual bodies donated for science. If this disturbs you, skip chapter two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catacombs

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an incredible suggestion by katdemon1895. Thank you!  
> \-------------------------

"It wasn't my fault," Sherlock Holmes insisted petulantly to a scowling John Watson as the former limped down the private jet's steps. Thankfully, John had chosen to take advantage of his upgraded clearance status to drive right up onto the tarmac instead of parking outside the airport. Sherlock was going to need more substantial support than his current companion could provide. 

 

"It really wasn't his fault, John," Molly Hooper said apologetically as she struggled to support Sherlock's weight. When they were close enough, John took over for her, careful of the bright blue boot on Sherlock's foot. 

 

"Well, whose fault was it then?" he grunted a bit as Sherlock's weight shifted to his shoulder. 

 

"Mine," Molly admitted with a wince, "I wanted to take a closer look at a particular skull in the catacombs and, well, it went downhill from there."

 

Sherlock frowned, "I wouldn't say it went  _downhill_. Turned out to be one of the more fascinating cases I've had in a long time."

 

John shook his head as they levered Sherlock into the back seat of the car, "Only the two of you would go on a date in a catacomb and end up thwarting an international identity-theft ring." He straightened up and sighed, "Only  _you two_  would think visiting a catacomb constitutes a proper date in the first place." 

 

"It was fun," protested Molly and Sherlock in unison. He could see from the looks on their faces that they were absolutely sincere. How, John Watson wondered for the thousandth time, did he end up with such nutters for friends?

 

He huffed a laugh, "Yeah, when you said you were 'borrowing' a private jet from Mycroft to take Molly to Paris for the evening, silly me thought you were going to have dinner and take a stroll along the Seine."

 

"You have  _met_  me, haven't you?"

 

"Touché."

 

Once John got his passengers settled and they started the drive back into London, he finally asked for the full story. It turned out to be quite a good one and he made Molly promise to make notes for him later so he could make a blog entry. It turned out that the skull Molly wanted to look at wasn't several hundred years old. It wasn't even several months old. It was practically still juicy (Molly's words).

 

Their investigation uncovered several sets of recent remains among all of the ancient ones. This eventually led to the discovery that a large-scale identity theft scheme, masterminded by a private nurse was stealing the identities of recently deceased seniors with no families. The private nurse didn't kill anyone, just waited for their inevitable deaths, but didn't report the death. Instead the bodies were secreted away and an impostor was brought in to take the dead's identity, then make a full recovery, thereby receiving the deceased's pensions or other assets. It wouldn't have been worth the effort for one or two, but dozens of identities had been stolen in this way and their credit histories exploited on the world market. 

 

"The only snag was that they had to hide the bodies," Sherlock continued as John and Molly settled him in his chair at 221B.  "Couldn't bury them just anywhere: too many bodies, chances were excellent that at least a few would be discovered. Don't need any pesky questions being asked. So they accelerated decay, maybe storing the bodies until it happened naturally. Acid bath more likely as it was less likely to attract attention from the smell and it would corrupt any trace DNA. Once the skeletons were clean and given a faux ageing treatment, they stored them among the other ossements. No one would notice one more set of remains among hundreds."

 

"Except Molly," John interjected. 

 

"Except Molly," Sherlock agreed, looking stupidly proud of his girlfriend. Molly blushed. 

 

"Job hazard," Molly said a shy shrug. "Their artificial ageing technique was amateurish. Couldn't help but spot the difference."

 

"Well _you_ could spot it. I doubt any other forensic specialist would have been able to do so easily. Your volunteer work at archaeological sites has proven invaluable."

 

Molly grinned, clearly a bit flustered at the compliments, "Well, thank you, but I'm sorry about ruining the date. Especially since you got hurt." She gently propped Sherlock's leg on  small ottoman she had pulled out of the corner. 

 

"Well, you'll just have to make it up to me then," Sherlock said in a low voice. Molly blushed again. 

 

John was ridiculously pleased to see the two flirting and excused himself to make tea. Molly followed to help and within a few moments they had a tray set up. John was looking for biscuits when heard a faint chime. 

 

"Molly!" they both jumped a bit when Sherlock bellowed. Molly immediately checked the watch on her wrist.

 

"Oh! Excuse me a moment, John. He likes to keep to schedule on our dates." Molly gave him a smile and walked back towards the seated detective. John smirked as he watched Molly lean over and give the man a peck on the lips. Leave it to Sherlock to schedule the good-night kiss. The smirk grew to a grin when Molly tried to pull back, but Sherlock caught her wrist and whined, "we have ten minutes allotted for the good-night kiss and that barely took up ten seconds!"

 

"Yes, well, we're usually standing in front of the door to my flat. I can't kiss you for ten minutes while you're sitting. It's uncomfortable."

 

He tugged on her wrist, "Well sit here then," he said, indicating his knee, "It's practical and appropriate for a woman to sit in her romantic partner's lap, isn't it?"

 

"Quite," Molly said happily as she settled on his knee. It became obvious they hadn't done this before as Sherlock shifted a bit more than his injured leg would necessitate. John's heart stung in compassion for his friend, knowing new types of physical contact were difficult for him to adjust to, but adjust Sherlock did and soon the couple were contentedly trying make each other's faces disappear. John nobly resisted the urge to take a video of their epic snog and send it to Greg Lestrade. Instead, he finished the tea tray and left it on the kitchen table, then quietly left the flat. He had a feeling they were going to go a bit over schedule. 


	2. Runway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating Molly Hooper isn't for the squeamish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Body World exhibition is a real thing. It's fascinating but not for the squeamish. If you're curious, here's a link: http://www.bodyworlds.com/en.html And there have been fashion designers that were inspired by human anatomy, particularly muscles. That said, if you are sensitive to the topic of anatomy as art, you may want to skip this chapter.

It was telling that one of the few dates that did not end with Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper on the wrong side of the police barrier was a date that Molly planned. Granted, given the nature of the date, there were those who would not see that as much comfort. It did, after all, still involve bloody corpses. 

 

Well, not  _actual_  bloody corpses (much to Sherlock's disappointment) but quite realistic representations of corpses all the same. So accurate that after a few moments, Sherlock was able to ignore the fact that it was fake. The color, texture, drape- it all gave the impression of a cadaver laid bare and the pieces used to create something new. Frankenstein's monster meets haute couture. Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find that this date was shaping up to be quite amusing. 

 

Molly seemed enthralled,too, but she was the one to suggest the activity and acquire the tickets. He had only to once again gain access to Mycroft's private jet. Molly, still under the impression that Mycroft had  _allowed_  them use of the jet the first time, had simply asked if Sherlock could borrow it again. He smiled and agreed, glad that she wasn't averse to taking advantage of his brother's position and wealth to make the date possible. She certainly couldn't have afforded to hire a private jet and he certainly wasn't going to fly commercial. He was glad it hand't come to that because he wouldn't have missed this for the world. 

 

And that was how Sherlock Holmes found himself attending one of the most gruesome fashion shows in Parisian history. He and Molly were VIP's no less, thanks in part to her connection to the designer's assistant, an old classmate from St. Bart's. Having the assistance of a medical school graduate had certainly proved useful to the unique designer, Sherlock mused as he watched a bone-thin model glide down the runway wearing a body suit covered in anatomically correct muscle groupings. She was followed by an equally thin model wearing only strategically placed tendons and sheets of subcutaneous fat.  

 

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Molly would want to attend something of this sort. How many times (individually and together) had they attended the  _Body Worlds_  exhibit? They had even spent a pleasant Saturday afternoon in a seminar led by Dr. Gunther von Hagens himself about the plastination process. He was surprised that he hadn't resisted the idea of attending this event during Fashion Week in Paris. Everything about that phrase had filled him with cold dread until Molly rushed to add the bit about the fashions being made of anatomically correct fake body parts. 

 

At the reception which followed, they were served hors d'oeuvres by wait staff dressed in body suits depicting human musculature. Both he and Molly were rather fascinated by the lifelike (so to speak) quality of the suits and delayed every server as they passed so they could have a closer look. There was an awkward moment when Sherlock suddenly realized he was watching his girlfriend poke at the serratus anterior muscle of a rather well-built male server, but he shooed the man away quickly enough and redirected Molly's attention with a lingering kiss. They didn't often show affection in public, so it when Sherlock initiated a kiss in a crowd, it always captured Molly's full attention. 

 

That it completely captured his attention, too, was beside the point. 

 

All in all, it was an interesting evening. He learned quite a bit about relaxing and having fun, something John had been trying to teach him for years. Perhaps it just took the right partner in the right setting?  Corpses on a Paris runway (there was a metaphor in that, but he would consider it later) and a happy Molly on his arm made for a perfect date as far as Sherlock Holmes could tell. 

 


End file.
